


Whatever Hurts Me

by Flazéda (peternurphy)



Category: Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft
Genre: Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Humanoid abominations, M/M, Masochism, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 03:05:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10958346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peternurphy/pseuds/Flaz%C3%A9da
Summary: Nyarlathotep learns that Randolph Carter has a much higher tolerance for pain than most humans.





	Whatever Hurts Me

When the Crawling Chaos first began courting the human beyond flinging insults and teasing out affection, and they had their first planned meeting in an anonymous Dylath-Leen wine cellar, Randolph Carter had given an acknowledgment of something he considered important.

“A lot of past partners have...” He’d pursed the cute lips with the remaining indents from his teeth and Nyarlathotep had seen the tiny blood vessels beneath them empty from the pressure. “Been surprised. I suppose, being a god and all, you’ve seen everything, but I always bring this up – that-”

And Nyarlathotep had quieted him with a biting kiss and smack on the ass and ridden him past his climax and made him scream and struggle while begging for more. After all, Nyarlathotep loved these quirks in the humans that he sought out, and in this fascinating little specimen that had the nerve to evade him time and time again, it was just so satisfying pulling out all those noises and flails. And afterwards, when Randolph clung to him and gave little kisses along his neck and face, Nyarlathotep found himself charmed by the little human weakness which always annoyed him so.

The meetings went on like this. Nyarlathotep would hold himself back and ramp up his manipulations of Randolph’s body slowly enough to keep him comfortable, and slowly showed more of his forms than that pretty pharaoh who Randolph had first met. Nyarlathotep’s pride in the bodies he had accumulated never faltered – but Randolph surprised him every time he’d see what stood in the room and wrap his arms around it, kissing and touching and beginning the light teasing barbs and death threats that so delighted the Crawling Chaos. They’d play and then fuck and then doze in a warm haze around their entwined bodies while feeling broken lips on distant skin and sending soft words in response to Randolph’s praises and gushing. The troubles of the human’s kingdom were in the distance, and despite Nyarlathotep’s constant link to the court, he would let himself be contained by the walls of the room, shrinking towards the bed and around Randolph Carter.

And nearly months into this, Nyarlathotep finds himself sitting in the tall, sharpened onyx throne facing down over an empty main hall. Long, thick tentacles spread lazily over the arms and along the floor, and the smoky skirts of his robes fade into the array of spikes the form uses to walk. Across his thighs sits Randolph Carter, staring around anxiously and squeezing the Key around his neck. Randolph’s head reaches the bottom of Nyarlathotep’s long, braided neck. With a dark, sharp, hand, seeming as if it was once formed from volcanic glass, Nyarlathotep strokes and toys with the human that fits neatly in his lap. 

“There’s nobody here, you know,” Nyarlathotep reminds him, and Randolph sighs and leans against him. Nyarlathotep continues to toy with him, then comes across something that had slipped his mind earlier- “I see.” He lowers the glass hand (warmed – he wouldn’t want to make his human uncomfortable) and begins to lightly stroke the abdomen just under where Randolph belted his robe. He leans down to tug on Randolph’s ear with his teeth. “Besides, I’d like someday to have you like this in a full hall. I’d keep you from all the Great Ones...”

“Pervert.”

“Weren’t you the one warning me about strange tastes?”

Randolph smacks Nyarlathotep’s face away lightly from his neck and steps down from the throne. He takes one of the thinner tendrils from its place on the armrest and begins toying it between his hands. Nyarlathotep feels it in warm jolts through an appendage he had barely considered, and the attention strays there to consider the soft, unworked hands of the human lover. “Which I’ve still been waiting for you to fully indulge.”

Nyarlathotep laughs and twitches in Randolph’s hand. “Then what is it when I play with you after you think you’ve finished? What is it when I hit you? When I make you bleed? When I stretch you further and more violently than any human cock could?”

Immediately Randolph looks up at him. “Well – it’s not that it’s unsatisfying, or it’s not enough-” He stammers and pauses in what must be a struggle to find the correct words. Already he’s flush with blood in his face and neck; the extra heat radiates lazily towards Nyarlathotep’s center. 

“You want more, don’t you?”

Randolph doesn’t answer. If his blood were moving any faster his skin would break. Nyarlathotep steps down to pull the human towards him, stroking his hair and leaning down to place a kiss on his forehead. “You’re just full of surprises, Randolph Carter. Tell me, what is it you’d like me to do?”

A squeezing pulse travels up the length of the tentacle. Randolph looks down at it, considering it with narrowed eyes and teeth pushing into a slightly swollen bottom lip. Finally, with a soft, uncertain, voice, he speaks.

“You’ve never whipped me.”

“Is that what you’d like?”

Randolph nods; immediately, Nyarlathotep draws himself up to a taller stature and wraps a tentacle around Randolph’s chin. The human squirms and tightens the coil of muscle and tendons in his thigh – someday, Nyarlathotep thinks, he’d like to unravel those ropes of flesh. But teasing and embarrassing his lover with demands is satisfying enough as it is, and the blue slash across a light-reflecting nonface widens in a facsimile of a smile. “Tell me,” he says, and Randolph whines and tries to turn his face. “I can’t do anything if I don’t know what you want, can I? Silly little human...”

First, Randolph’s throat chokes the words – then they come through clearly. “Could you… whip me? With your tentacles?” 

Nyarlathotep holds back the laugh and pets Randolph’s hair. If he were feeling especially sadistic, he’d ask Randolph to beg. But even forcing him to speak this request brings a delicious surge of blood and confused electric jolts. He can work on humiliating the human another time. He lets go of Randolph and twirls the thicker tentacles around his arms to drag them up above his head. Nyarlathotep lifts him upwards until he’s dangling on the very tips of his toes. Another smaller tendril pushes through through a the vibrations in the physical barriers that form Randolph’s skull, finding its spot in the agreed upon cluster of neurons, currently firing pleasure directly through and up the invisible length. Nyarlathotep shivers at his center of mass. 

A softer, moistened tentacle begins to work its way under the bottom of the robes, through the undergarments, pauses to press into the soft flesh of the human’s ass, and pokes the rounded tip through the back collar. Then it thickens and hardens – and in one violent motion, rips the robes – first along the back, then tugging and tearing at the sleeves until Randolph stands just above a pile of very expensive rags. The fabric tension has left red marks of irritation that are strong on his arms and across his throat. Nyarlathotep traces one – then jerks Randolph upwards roughly and turns him away.

The tentacle twitches in the air, contemplating. Randolph’s back is free of any bruises of welts, and as Nyarlathotep surveys it, he thinks of all the things he could do. It’s a shame he can’t just open it – split the flesh and pull apart the ribs, and swing razor thin tendrils hard against the exposed organs. He chases those thoughts away – after all, Randolph dangling and trying to work his shoulders so they don’t come out of place is something Nyarlathotep thinks he could watch for hours.

Which isn’t what Randolph asked for. So Nyarlathotep raises the thickened tentacle and swings it through the air, carving a quickly filled vacuum as it travels, and smacks it directly across Randolph’s ass. Randolph twitches and squeaks – but it’s clearly from surprise, and he comes back to his composure quickly. 

“How’s that?”

“A decent enough beginning.”

Nyarlathotep ups the ante with three more tentacles. They spin and fall across Randolph’s back and buttocks in quick succession, raising welts and drawing bruises and landing with loud smacks that trigger pulses of radiation inside of the limbs. And yet, beyond the reflexive movements and the simple mechanical reaction of the body being hit by fast moving, heavy, lashes, Randolph is remarkably still, and remarkably quiet. 

So he stops and surveys his work. Shouldn’t a human be weeping and struggling by now? He probes with the small tendril against Randolph’s brain – but all he receives is a soft, somewhat pleased but ultimately dull buzz. At the very least, Randolph is still hard.

Nyarlathotep drops him onto the floor and places his hands on the upward pointed spikes at his hips. “You’re rather resilient, Randolph Carter.” 

Randolph looks up at him. His eyes are hooded and his face is flush – at least he’s aroused. But he looks down and bites his lip as he mumbles that he’s sorry. “I know you were trying to be accommodating of me, I just-” He looks down. At the very least, there aren’t tears in his eyes – Nyarlathotep had seen that before, and it’s always so difficult to deal with. He lets his legs recede into each other to be closer to his human lover, to stroke his hair and pull him up by his jaw. He lets the needle tips of his fingers press into Randolph’s skin, drawing the slightest amount of blood. “I do appreciate it. I really do – but as long as you don’t kill me permanently…” 

Nyarlathotep breaks into laughter. The sound clicks around the room, high pitched and recoiling back towards his body, collected in the hollow cavities along his abdomen. “I don’t think you realize what you’re asking for.”

“Probably not.”

And he’s smiling, now. His eyes are wide and he looks down over himself, giggling and leaning into Nyarlathotep. Nyarlathotep wonders what he could show him – what tortures he could unleash, original and rehashed. He thinks of how he broke the Arkham student simply with images and temptations – but at this point, he knows Randolph’s made of harder stuff. He leans in to press the bottom of his steely face to Randolph’s forehead. “I’ll continue with the whipping. I’ll make it worth your while, dearest.” And then he rises above his original height and grabs Randolph by the top of his arms and lifts him again – this time using a tendril to keep him upright, and facing against a pillar. His back is lightly welted – well, thinks Nyarlathotep, it got him worked up. So he raises a tentacle several feet in the air, above Randolph and above himself – then slams it down, cracking in the air before slicing into the lean, but soft flesh. He holds the tendril back still; the flesh doesn’t break, but the welt is redder and harsher than any of the rest. Randolph ‘mm’s loudly, and twitches against the onyx stone of the pillar. And yet, he clearly isn’t at the level he wants. Nyarlathotep lands a few more of these blows, watches him cling with his thighs to the pillar and listens to him make involuntary noises. 

He strengthens the tentacle with a push of plasma and flings it faster for the next set. This time he thinks that he’ll whip through Randolph’s back, instead of just stopping the tentacle where it lands. It cracks again and he feels the rush of Randolph’s blood around the onyx by his feet, then watches it drip from the broken skin on Randolph’s back and feels the human’s shivers. Nyarlathotep whips and whips and whips, until the blood splashes out instead of simply rolling down the raised welts. 

“That enough for you?”

“You don’t have to stop.”

Or not. Another five blows break more skin; some of it sloughs off on to the floor, and the veins and muscles of Randolph’s back are revealed, like throbbing, red, lingerie under a silk dress. The softer tentacles below Nyarlathotep’s pinched waist twitch and pulse – he draws his robes up to lightly draw his fingers across them as he watches the striptease continue, watches his own work as he breaks through skin, and through muscle with the long and now sharpened appendages. The satin falls to the ground with a slopping noise; the blood rolls towards Nyarlathotep from his magnetic pull. Randolph is straining and twitching and pulling and moaning, virtually humping the pillar he’s restrained against. 

One last stroke brings down enough tissue to reveal the bones in Randolph’s spine. Nyarlathotep opens his face and leans in, to draw his tongue along the erect peaks of the vertebrae. He draws up the pain signals among the lust being transmitted to Randolph’s brain, with a needle tipped hand he presses his fingertips into Randolph’s testicles. The noise Randolph makes is a long, sustained yelp. 

He drops the restraints around Randoph’s arms and lets him drop the inch or so to his flat feet. “Want me to fuck you?” Nyarlathotep asks, and Randolph arches his back and pushes his ass out expectantly. Nyarlathotep grabs it and draws his claws up and through – then throws him to the ground and lowers himself onto him like in a torrent of black, acidic rain. The tentacles amass towards his front in a mockery of a human phallus and penetrate quickly and roughly into Randolph, no regard for the tightness and the resistance of the human’s entrance. And his torn up back scrapes against the floor as Nyarlathotep thrusts and Randolph shrieks and flails under him. As he kicks his legs and screams in pain, the few coherent words that escape Nyarlathotep’s human pet are begging him to continue, to not have any mercy – and to touch him. 

The glassy hand wraps around Randolph’s cock – gently and soft, as opposed to how Randolph thrusts into him. The dildo appendage formed from Nyarlathotep’s lust feels the clenching and likely tearing around it, electric transmissions pulsing into it and making him push harder and letting Randolph penetrate the circle in his hand. The pink flesh moves upwards again and again, rubbing against Nyarlathotep’s glassy hand and shifting his hips from side to side in some confused fashion. Nyarlathotep has always loved how humans lose control of themselves.

Randolph is enveloping Nyarlathotep fully now; Nyarlathotep can’t recall pressing the entirety of his length into him. “Eager little slut,” he clicks, and Randolph reaches up to lightly slap his face. Nyarlathotep hardly feels it – but he responds, pressing deeper and laughing softly. “Then my eager, faithful, beautiful, little pet,” says Nyarlathotep, and Randolph whines and nods and tries to speak. It falls into moaning and yelping at the array of sensations. Nyarlathotep feels pity on his adorable little human as he bucks and twists; and shoves a burst of strength and hormones for the human with another thrust.

“I’m yours – I’m your pet, I’m your human and you’re my god and -” Even with the help, Randolph is struggling to get coherent words out. “And I want you to treat me like it and do whatever makes you happy, whatever hurts me whatever hurts-”

Nyarlathotep hears the bones of Randolph’s spine scrape against the floor and sees sparks rise as Randolph’s cock spurts across his chest and onto his face. Nyarlathotep extends the tentacles deeper into him and into the beginnings of his small intestine – then immediately retracts them back to the belt of shorter, thicker, softer tentacles. He reaches to roll Randolph over-

“Not yet. Still feels nice.”

Nyarlathotep falls on top of him and presses his arachnid legs together around Randolph’s. There’s certainly something wrong with the human. He’s mad, he must be – but to Nyarlathotep, perhaps that can mean Randolph has less to fear.


End file.
